


s(he's) so high

by misscosmique



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Songfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-21
Updated: 2021-01-21
Packaged: 2021-03-12 15:34:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28887696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misscosmique/pseuds/misscosmique
Summary: Stiles + drunk karaoke = lurve confessions
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Lydia Martin & Stiles Stilinski
Kudos: 66





	s(he's) so high

Stiles was sulking; his forehead was pressed to the table they were sitting at in the dimly lit bar and his hand clutched his beer tightly, “Lydia why must I be attracted to people so far out of my league they may as well be playing a different game?”

Lydia snorted and took a pull from her own beer, “Stiles, Stiles, Stiles. You’re overreacting.”

“How,” He deadpanned, looking up from the table and into her eyes with a squint, “How am I overreacting? I am going to die single and alone.”

Lydia rolled her eyes, “At least there’s entertainment tonight,” She motioned to the karaoke set up near the back of the bar. Tonight was Karaoke Thursday and a bunch of not-so-great singers had been on and off the stage; the alcohol made them not only bearable, but wildly amusing. 

“You know what? That’s a great idea. I should sing my feelings instead of stewing in them.” Stiles stood up and chugged the last little bit of his beer. Lydia frowned softly and said, “Not what I meant.”

Ignoring her, he set the bottle down and walked to where the sign-up sheet was. In front of the stage, off to the left, there was a kind looking woman with thick glasses that framed her face sitting at the table with the sign-up. He smiled at her and said, “Can I go next?”

Her eyes peered through the glass, and Stiles realized that the weight of her prescription caused them to look larger than they were. He stifled a laugh.

“Sure. What song do you want?” The woman gestured to the large book of songs in front of her and he took a peek into it. The first one on the second page was just what he needed. He pointed at it and the woman queued it up, telling him to wait by the stage and that she’d call him up when it was time.

When the person on stage finished singing a truly tone-deaf version of Bohemian Rhapsody, the woman stood to approach the stage and started clapping, “Let’s hear it for Greenberg, who always fails to impress,” She said into the mic with a smirk, “Just kidding GB, you did great. Now, let’s give a warm welcome to,” She paused again, looking at Stiles, who whispered his name to her, “Stiles Stilinski.”

As he walked up the steps to the stage, he heard clapping from a few people who were well on the way to being drunk, and a wolf-whistle from Lydia. He blushed and grabbed the mic, “Hello. Hi. This is not going to be the original, so bear with me for singing the words wrong. It’s intentional.”

The music started playing in the crowd and Stiles felt himself wobble slightly; the two shots he had were finally hitting, making his body feel warm and fuzzy. The beer he chugged just sat like a stone in his stomach. Or maybe that was just the overwhelming feeling of _ unrequited love _ .

“She’s blood, flesh and bone,” Stiles sang into the microphone with his eyes closed. He opened them and saw a small group of people near the front nodding along with him, “No tucks of silicone.”

Stiles took the mic off the stand and got off the stage, walking towards Lydia, “She’s touch, smell, sight, taste, and sound,” Lydia quirked a brow and shrugged her shoulders; she knew she everything, just not to him anymore. They were both better off as friends and Stiles was glad she came out with him tonight. 

Stiles continued to serenade her, before walking back to the stage and putting the mic back on the stand. 

“‘Cause he’s so high,” Stiles sighed softly, “High above me.”

He heard Lydia start to laugh and he pointed his glare towards her; he was a great singer. He could belt a tune with the best of them!

“He’s so lovely.” 

Stiles didn’t notice Lydia begin to record the performance on her phone, or else he would’ve stopped. He was too tipsy and too love-drunk to notice more than the mic and the music. 

“He’s so high,” His voice cracked, “Like Nicolas Cage, Tony Stark, or Patrick Swayze.” 

Stiles faintly realized he was starting to tear up, but didn’t bother leaving the stage. He grabbed the mic back out of the stand and belted, “What could a guy like me, ever really offer?” 

He was swaying too much, the alcohol making him feel incredibly dizzy. He grabbed the stand for support and said plainly, “He’s as perfect as he can be, why should I even bother?”

He heard the music continue but he was done; this was a bad idea. He heard the telltale sound of Lydia’s heels approach the stage as he stared at the spotlight in front of him. People were murmuring in confusion.

His vision was spotty when he noticed Lydia grab the mic to hand it to the woman who introduced him, “Come on, hon. I think that’s enough for one night.”

Lydia guided Stiles off the stage and to the door. She pushed him softly into her car and drove him home. Stiles wobbled up the stairs to his door and promptly fell asleep on the couch. 

At some point during the night he got up to puke and took off his clothes, save for his boxers, and made it to his bed. He only woke up to the sound of his window creaking. 

Stiles jumped out of bed, hand going for his baseball bat by the nightstand. He stopped when he realized it was just Derek. After he moved out of his dad’s place and into an apartment on the second floor of the building, Stiles really thought the unannounced window visits from Derek would stop; he was wrong. It seemed like the lack of his father's presence only served to ramp them up. 

“Hello?” Stiles yawned. “Why are you here at,” He looked at his phone, “6 in the morning on a Sunday?”

Derek blushed slightly and turned to close the window he just came through. When he turned around the flush was only visible on the tips of his ears, “Did you mean to compare me to Nicolas Cage?”

“Huh,” Stiles deadpanned, blinking his eyes rapidly. 

“Because while that’s a point for creativity, I really hope you’re not insinuating I look like him.” 

Stiles groaned; the memories from the night before were hazy but he vividly remembered comparing a certain tall broody Hale to America’s best-worst actor. He rubbed a hand over his face, “How did you find out?”

Derek smiled softly and pulled out his phone. He turned it to Stiles: a video from Lydia texted to him of Stiles stumbling over the stage. He had one hand clutching a mic and the other holding the mic stand for balance. He did not sound as polished as he thought he had. When it ended he saw a glimpse of a text, “Your move, Hale,” before it quickly disappeared when Derek clicked his phone off.

“So, it was me, right?”

Instead of denying it, Stiles just said, “I was drunk.” He sat on the edge of his bed and looked up at Derek, “It meant nothing.”

“Oh.” Derek’s phone dropped to his side, “Of course.”

Stiles could tell that Derek was hurt but he didn’t understand why, “Did you want it to be you?” 

Derek’s eyes shot to Stiles’ immediately, he said stiffly, “But it’s not.”

Stiles felt a burst of warmth, “Oh my god, you  _ like _ me.”

“God only knows why.” Derek rolled his eyes but smiled shyly at Stiles who grinned big and wide. Derek stared for a moment before softly mumbling, “I’m not perfect, Stiles.”

“To me you are.”

“You’re a sap,” Derek huffed out a small laugh, “I still can’t believe you compared me to Nicolas Cage.” 

Stiles patted the spot next to him on the bed, “Come cuddle me back to sleep and we can discuss better comparisons when I wake up less hungover.”

Derek toed off his shoes before crawling under the covers, “I think I’m more a Superman than a Tony Stark.”

Stiles barked out a laugh, “Gimme a break! I was tipsy and barely upright. You’re lucky I didn’t stick with the regular lyrics.”

Derek nodded, curling an arm around Stiles’ waist and pulling him close. He pressed his nose to his neck and breathed in deep, “I really, really am.”


End file.
